The Photograph
by Cordelia McGonagall
Summary: Hermione and her friends gather every New Year's Eve since the War to let go of the pain they are ready to part with. This year, Hermione is sent a package from Dennis Creevey that moves her to meet with someone she thought she would never have to see again. This story is complete.


Thank you to J.K. Rowling for the gift of these characters who are not my own.

New Year's Eve, 2003

As the battered Range Rover crunched over the crushed shell path, Harry's heart warmed with peace and gratitude that Christmas holiday was now so much more than stale biscuits and television at Mrs. Figg's. He'd seen her recently, at St. Polycarp's Home for the Aged, when he spent an hour willingly looking at her yellowing collection of cat photos. It was oddly comforting, but he was rather grateful she was no longer responsible for the entirety of his holiday festivities, such as they used to be. Or not.

Harry was jarred by a sharp blast of sea air from the passenger-side window. Ginny leaned her face out into the biting wind whipping around the car. He gave her a small smirk; she loved playing with the window switches on the muggle car. They'd driven this year to Shell Cottage, as they had just left their yearly visit with Dudley and his girlfriend, and apparating seemed like a bit of an unnecessary strain on the tentative goodwill between the cousins. Besides, Harry looked very much forward to this quiet drive with Ginny up along the rocky coast to Bill and Fleur's. With their work and their close-knit circle of family and friends, Ginny and Harry appreciated the time and solitude of a simple car ride.

Christmas with the Weasleys was still always held at the Burrow; Molly wanted - needed - to have the chaos and the fussing. Andromeda and Teddy had come and stayed in Charlie's room. Charlie had happily opted for a large tent with Percy and George; the three men had spent hours together in the war's wake helping each other grieve Fred, and becoming friends in a way they had not been before the war. Penelope and Angelina had come for a huge Christmas dinner, and Charlie invited several jolly mates around for late night sandwiches and a raucous game of Exploding Snap. It was Ginny, needing to absorb as much time with her brothers as she could, who was the only one to take in Charlie's friend Donal, blushing and grinning shyly as Charlie brushed a bit of singed card out of his silvery blond hair.

Ginny and Harry had fondly parsed this encounter and all the other banter and news from Christmas for the first half of the drive from Dudley's home, but they had slipped into the comfortable silence of their own thoughts. It wasn't even time for tea yet, but the solid gray of the sky had melded with the liquid silver of the sea, and the lights from Shell Cottage blinked merrily out from the creeping darkness. Fleur's love of entertaining and her and Bill's jobs at Gringotts meant they had overnight guests often, and instead of ruining the cosy privacy of their little cottage, they had built two handsome guest cottages behind their own. Harry always suspected Fleur would have build a dozen cottages if it meant not having a stack of storeys bringing the Burrow to mind.

Harry pulled the parking brake, and Ginny squeezed his hand, gave him a light peck on the cheek, and hopped out of the car, running into the wind. Harry grabbed a large crate of wine and a pie basket, and loped stiffly up the drive, stretching a bit as he went.

The blast of warmth from the entrance to the cottage immediately fogged his glasses with air thick with the aromas of roasting chicken and rosemary. Harry elbowed the door fully open and was greeted by whoops and cheers from a crowd who had already begun to celebrate the coming year. Ron was holding a pint of ale in one hand and a wiggling Victoire in the other, while Hermione was wrestling a bib onto the toddler. Ron and Hermione were dating, but they had both confided to Harry and Ginny that it was lovely and exciting, but also careful and tentative. Hermione was a third of the Golden Trio, but she had, to Harry and Ron's eventual acknowledgement, been a private person from year one of Hogwarts - a witch who kept her own counsel and secrets. Hermione needed some spell damage care at St. Mungo's after the war because of her torture at the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange, and Ron was patiently giving them both the opportunity to heal and grieve from the losses they had both suffered so young.

Ron finally was able to get Victoire to relax her little knees enough to be coaxed into a high chair, and he used his newly free hand to give his sister and best friend a hug. Hermione put some slices of orange on the high chair tray and rushed over to scoop them both into fierce hugs.

"Ohhh, I am so glad to see you two! It has been three weeks, and I have missed you like mad. I got the all clear from St. Mungo's last week. No more monthly checkups! Luna and I want to go out to celebrate. She just got a grant from The Department of Magical Creatures to go hunt for nargles in Latvia." Harry smiled and caught Ron's eye to mouth discreetly,_ "Who approved that grant?"_ Ron used his pint glass to smother a snort. Luna floated over and pecked Ginny and Harry on the cheeks and wafted away to help Fleur chop a large pile of Brussels sprouts.

As Ginny and Harry settled in to encourage Fleur, who was a few months along with her and Bill's second child, to take a seat and a cup of tea, Neville and Hannah arrived with more ale from The Leaky Cauldron and a large basket of mince pies. Lee Jordan and Dean apparated in separately, each having to run the gauntlet of women asking where their girlfriends had disappeared to. When Parvati stepped out of the fireplace and caught Dean's eye, his blush gave them all something to ponder while they set about making dinner. George and Angelina were the last to arrive; George presented them with a giant chocolate cake and Angelina brought a potato gratin steaming from the oven.

The clan busied themselves heating, arranging, and plating food, and soon they were all able to sit down at a table which rivaled any Hogwarts feast. Fleur looked up at them all and beamed, and they quieted for her. Her voice was low but steady.

"Let us all hold hands and thank each other for friendship and peace. Let us drink to Fred, whom we love with all our hearts."

They squeezed each other's hands and let go to raise their glasses.

"To Fred," they all said with sad smiles, but smiles, nonetheless.

Everyone tucked into the meal carefully and leisurely, wanting to spend as much time enjoying the food and company as possible. Angelina and George began a private drinking game of "Drink Every Time Luna Says _Nargles_" but were forced to call the game when Angelina conceded, realizing that she would be on the floor before pudding.

Eventually the plates emptied and everyone cleared their places. Ron brought out a large silver coffee carafe and cups, and Ginny and Harry set out dessert. They ate and drank several pots of coffee so their full bellies would not settle them to sleep before midnight. Bill scooped up a very sleepy Victoire and took her up to bed. Fleur looked as though she'd love to follow her, so Ginny and George steered her up to bed and started in on the dishes while the rest set the table for breakfast and packed up the food, continuing their dinner conversations in the kitchen.

Satisfied that Bill and Fleur wouldn't have to lift a finger in the morning, the party went to get their coats and blankets and wrapped up to go outside. They each picked their way over to the rocky bluff above the beach and stood in a circle around the stone marking Dobby's grave. Luna, because Harry remembered her goodbye words to Dobby at his burial, was always given the honor of placing the first sock. Harry picked one with mad rainbow stripes to lay next. Everyone pulled a sock from his or her coat and one at a time, bent down and laid it next to the stone. Hermione and Harry stayed behind as everyone else moved down to the shore. They leaned into each other, Dobby's grave blurring through full eyes. Time had lessened the raw grief and regret, but they were still overcome each year with the deep gratitude for Dobby's sacrifice. Hermione squeezed Harry's shoulder and led him back to the shore with the others, where Neville and Hannah had built an impressive bonfire. Lee and Dean had conjured some surprisingly comfortable camp chairs, and Parvati floated among them refilling glasses. Bill had rejoined the group and brought a large box of paper sky lanterns.

The toast to Fred was always a solemn one at the table, but the beach lent itself to many random, silly tributes. When Ron suggested a double toast to Argus Filch and the witch on the current edition of _Witch Weekly_, George abruptly declared toasts over and started in on an alarming version of the Hogwarts song, with everyone joining in with his or her own tune. As the last voice finished the song, (Dean who opted to pick a muggle lullaby melody) the quiet of the waves lapping at the shore was punctuated by two large owls carrying a package the size of a shirt box.

They set it down at Hermione's feet. She looked at Ron, and then the group, and when no one made a move to explain the parcel, she put it on her lap and pulled an envelope addressed to her off the top.

_ Dear Hermione,_

_It was so wonderful to see you at The Leaky Caludron last week. Neville and Hannah __keep me up with everyone's comings and goings, but I am glad you are well, and I hope __to see you again before too many years pass! __When I was home for Christmas, I continued to sort through Colin's __photographs. It upsets Dad too much, so he left them for me. Hermione, I spent __a week thinking about this photograph and wondering what to do with it. Colin __was an amazing storyteller with his camera, and in this picture, I feel like I read a chapter __of a story that wasn't for me. There are two copies. I sent them both to __Draco Malfoy last week. I felt, and maybe you will see why, that he should have __them. He returned one to me, with no explanation - just a brief note of thanks. __I am guessing that this is permission to send this to you, Hermione. You __will, I hope, forgive me if this photograph is not welcome, but I have sent several __photographs over the years to friends and family, and it makes me feel, just a __little, like Colin is alive when I see his work on the walls and mantles of their homes._

_ Fondly,_

_ Dennis Creevey_

Hermione wasn't sure what she was expecting, but this was most definitely not it. She looked up, anticipating everyone's eyes on her, but Lee had pulled some fireworks from a bag, and the partygoers had gone to the water's edge to set them off.

Carefully, she slid the box open and pulled out a photograph the size of a sheet of notebook paper. It was from her sixth year at Hogwarts. Her face had aged into the early dawn of womanhood, and she was wearing a white blouse and a small pearl necklace that were visible under her black school robes. Her hair was casually done in a messy bun, and she was sitting at a table. It was Potions - it had to be - there was a cauldron in the foreground in front of her. Her body was facing the camera, but her face was turned toward Ron, her head cocked toward him listening to him as he whispered something in her ear. She was smiling. Feeling nostalgic, Hermione was charmed by this private moment, but the photograph was not centered in the space between Ron and her. Hermione's right hand was the center of the photograph, her thin fingertips carefully manicured and lazily holding a quill. Her eyes scanned past the quill and she drew a deep breath, almost letting the picture blow away. Draco Malfoy was seated slightly apart from the pair, and his face was turned in the same direction as hers, but he was not eavesdropping. He was gazing at her - Hermione looked again to be sure, but it was shockingly clear - with a face absorbed by pure longing. Hermione's breath shuddered, and she started when she realized she'd been holding it for several seconds. She looked yet again at his face. She had never seen it composed in that way, ever. She'd seen his face point toward others with amusement, anger, curiosity, interest, or boredom, but she had never seen him face her with anything other than contempt.

Ron missed Hermione's presence at the fireworks and wandered back to the fire to check in with her. Wordlessly, she handed him first the note, and then the photograph. Ron read the letter with a bemused expression, and then settled on the picture. His eyes, like Hermione's, smiled at their younger selves, but she watched them grow wide, and then blank, when he took in the rest as she had. He looked up at her.

"Well, er, that is, ummm, quite a story," he said quietly. He looked at her thoughtfully, smiling at her, peacefully, to reassure her, when she started to knit her brows. "What do you want to do with this, 'Mione? I am smitten with how lovely you look. It brings me right back, but, ahh, I am pretty sure I don't want this on my mantle." He grinned awkwardly.

Hermione looked away and chewed her lip. They sat in silence for a moment.

"You always do want to get to the bottom of things, don't you?" Ron said softly. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her head turned toward the fireworks.

"Auld lang syne. Hermione, we have a couple of hours before midnight. And I don't want to tell you what to do, but I will say that I think you should go. Find Draco. I know you, and I know that you will maybe not think about this much, but you will think about it. You like to solve puzzles. And if you want to tell me about it when you get back, you know I will always listen." Ron pulled her close and gave her a kiss so full of meaning that it made her momentarily lightheaded. He gave her a final peck on the forehead and walked over to watch the fireworks. Ginny and Harry had summoned their Patronuses, and they were chasing each other over the water.

Hermione stared after him, and then walked over to Harry, who was smiling as his stag cantered around him. She paused to admire it, and then drew close.

"Harry, is Draco Malfoy still on probation?" Harry started, not expecting such an incongruous question. He fished in his pocket for a small, glass tablet, and pulled it out. He flipped it toward Hermione.

"The wizards have taken a page from the muggle world, for a change. I have my files here. Yes, yes, he is. He's in his final year of Healer training at St. Mungo's. I heard he is doing some study at a muggle medical school as well. He paid his Debt to the ministry by doing hours at a free clinic for muggles. My Tracer says he should be at St. Mungo's this evening. Why?" Harry looked at her shrewdly. Did something upsetting come in that package?"

"No, Harry. Nothing upsetting. Harry, I will be back soon. There is something I need to take care of. It's not anything to worry about, and Ron knows about it." She kissed his cheek. "Tell everyone I will be back in a little bit. Before midnight."

Harry, used to Hermione keeping her own counsel, nodded. He watched her gather her things and then turned back to the fireworks, just in time to see Lee and Parvati doing handstands in the sand.

Hermione leaned in close to the glass at Purge & Dowse, Ltd. and whispered, "I need to see Healer Malfoy," to the lopsided mannequin inside. She waited a moment, giving her enough time to begin reconsidering her recklessness, when the glass dissolved and she found herself in St. Mungo's waiting room. The receptionist was poking her quill absently at a miniature Christmas tree that was drooping sadly.

"May I see, ummm, Healer Malfoy, please?"

The elderly lady straightened, her eyes narrowed.

"Are you another one of those reporters from _The Daily Prophet_? No. Go away. Not after that last article. He is doing good work here, he is, and we'll not have any of you lot poking at him any more. Scoot." The graying witch made a show of looking menacing, and Hermione took a step back.

"No, er, I am not a reporter. Please, I am a-a frie..." The word died on her lips. Could you be so kind as to page Healer Malfoy and tell him Hermione Granger is here to see him?"

The receptionist looked at her out of the corner of her eye and folded a tiny paper airplane that zipped into a small hole in the ceiling above her desk.

"Third floor," she said, reluctantly.

Hermione muttered her thanks and grabbed the nearby elevator. She exited into another reception area, with a nurses' station with several nurses and healers flipping through charts. She wasn't sure if she should approach one of them, when she saw Draco, halfway down the end of a corridor, clutching the small paper from the receptionist downstairs. His back was to her. With a furtive look at the staff now looking at her curiously, she rushed down the hall before she lost her nerve. She saw him stop at an alcove near a window, where there was a small sitting area and a patient wearing a housecoat picking at a monochromatic dinner on a tray. He grabbed a spoon from her tray, bent over the ailing witch, and scooped a bite of her meal into his mouth and promptly gagged. He pointed his wand at her tray, vanishing her grey meat and summoning a grilled lamb chop and salad from the kitchens below, and pointed his wand at the unlit candle that had appeared on the table.

"Mrs. Jenkins, I haven't eaten anything since my shift started at seven this morning. I really need you to eat something for the both of us." Draco sounded harassed, but there was tenderness behind the words. He put her hand on the back of her chair and turned to face Hermione. He had known she was there by the lack of surprise in his eyes. His face was unreadable, and it occurred to Hermione in that moment that Draco had probably gotten better lessons in Occlumancy than Harry had. He sighed and said, abruptly, "I have to eat something or the nurses will gang up on me. Meet me in the tearoom in five minutes." He turned and pushed into a room with his back, and disappeared.

Hermione stood, rooted, for a moment, watching Mrs. Jenkins smile over her tray and chew happily. She turned and found the elevator, and found the tearoom on the top floor. She ordered a cup of tea and had a seat, clutching the box with the photograph in her lap. She barely had time to add sugar to her cup when Draco appeared, showered and in a fresh white shirt and black trousers. He looked as crisp and elegant as he had in school, but the end of his shift had left him with faint purple shadows under his eyes that Hermione imagined had been there for quite some time.

He sat studied her carefully, quietly, for just long enough to make her start to put together something to fill the silence, and then he said, "Lamb chops." Lamb chops like the ones he had summoned for Mrs. Jenkins appeared on the table. "Have you eaten Hermione? The elves here outdo themselves."

"Um, yes. I have, Draco..."

"Well," he cut her off. "If you didn't come here for the food," he smirked ruefully to himself, "Why are you here?"

Hermione realized that she had never prepared what she was going to say, and she was regretting that richly at this exact moment.

"Draco...have you ever taken Felix Felicis?"

"If I had, Granger, I probably wouldn't be poking at rashes and burns all day."

She faltered, and then gathered her thoughts again.

"Well, I have, just a bit. Not even a full dose. And you feel strong, and wise, and wonderful, and you know what you need to do, and how to go about doing it. You feel what needs to be done - you don't just know it. And, when I opened Dennis' letter,"

She watched his face tighten slightly.

"I knew that I had to see you. It seemed like the right thing to do. We - some of us from the Order, some of us who fought and survived - have this tradition we started after the War, we let go of what we need to on New Year's Eve. And when that picture came, right before I let go of things...I just needed to...Ron told me I should come..."

Draco had been shoveling food in this whole time, apparently used to eating when he could, through anything, but with this he held his fork just below his mouth.

"_Weasley_ sent you?"

"No," Hermione said. "I sent myself. He knew I needed to go." Hermione looked up to see Draco had his forehead in his hand, looking down at the table. He slid his face up in his palm and looked at her. His face was open, finally, and he looked shattered. It gave her a bit of courage somehow.

"I wanted to come, Draco. Because Colin told a story, our story. And I had never heard it before. He isn't here to...to tell the rest of it. I can't, as Ron said, frame this on my mantle, but I really can't put it in a drawer. And I definitely can't let it go. Can you tell me the story?"

Draco took a long pull from the cup of black coffee on his tray.

"Did you know the terms of my sentence after the war?"

"No, Draco," she murmured.

"Well, my family had to give away the majority of our wealth, but the Wizengamot felt that as a man barely out of childhood, I could very easily not learn from that and become extremely bitter...and dangerous.

My father had been given the Kiss and left to decompose in Azkaban, and my mother faded into a shadow of herself, but I am young, and they felt they had to reform me, somehow. I was sent here, to the Spell Damage ward, for work with the Healers. I was sent to work with a muggle doctor who is married to a wizard, and she took me to a homeless shelter three times a week for a year to care for the people there. I'll admit that was clever of them; it reinforced every thought I had about muggles. At first. They were hoping that I would find a shred of my humanity, and I did, although I am not sure if their heavy-handed tactics or relief from the madness of the Dark Lord was more healing to me. But it turns out, I like it here. I am an excellent Healer. I like to study Healing, and muggle medicine is more useful than many realize, as much as it pains me to admit it. It feels good to study, to methodically make my way through a course, a text, with singular focus. It feels good, oddly, to be so worn out at the end of a day that I know I won't have nightmares. It feels good to have a plan that for once, I can tell everyone. But I would bet that the Golden Trio might agree with me about that."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, the war made us all do things we didn't want to do. But some of us have an easier time living with ourselves about what we did. I am glad that you have done so much good, Draco. It suits you."

"You didn't come here for the five-minute class reunion, though did you, Granger?"

"No."

Draco took a breath. "Walk with me. Outside. I need air." Draco held out his hand. Hermione stared at it and looked up at him. He rolled his eyes and started to pocket his hand when she grabbed it. His hand was cool and soft. "Are you okay with apparating, Granger?"

"Yes."

She was pulled toward him and suddenly found herself in a deserted London park. She held his hand long enough to wonder why she was still holding it, and then let go. Draco began to walk, and she suspected that looking ahead was the only way he would be able to get out what he had to say. She walked along side him, silently.

"I tried to make a friend of Potter on our first day at Hogwarts. He wasn't interested. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. No one had ever not wanted me on his side before. I'd been taught that Weasley was poor, and his father was soft. I was indignant that Harry liked him. Jealous. And then you were the third, and you were the one who pulled the rug out from under me."

Hermione's eyes shot up, but she stayed silent, listening hard.

"Surely you knew this at your muggle primary school? Were _you_ friends with the second in _your_ class? My father teased me until I was in tears because I wouldn't shut up about you, and then he mocked me for crying," Draco sighed.

"Then, because I placed myself in firm competition with you, Granger, I watched you. I wanted not only what you had earned in the classroom, but what you had earned through your kindness and loyalty. No one would have saved me from a troll - and I wouldn't have risked my own skin for anyone. But even that first year, having lackeys wasn't a substitute for friendship, as much as I tried to convince myself that it was better. Then, to complicate my jealous loathing of you, you became..." Draco stopped, and turned to look at Hermione, to see her face when he continued, "...beautiful. I'd spent so much time watching you, just you, Granger, that other girls like Pansy, or Cho, or Fleur, even, were off somehow because you were how a girl was supposed to be. When I saw you out of our black school robes at the Yule Ball, you were so lovely that it hurt to look at you."

Hermione was so shocked to hear these words come out of Draco's mouth that her brain had shut off. This didn't stop the tears from swimming in her eyes, and she tried to lift her face and blink them away before they spilled.

"Draco, you were s-so horrible to me. To us. I didn't know Mudblood was a word until you chose to call me one."

" I am so sorry."

Hermione stared at him, waiting for more.

"No. No excuses, Granger. I am sorry. I've had to do enough apologizing since the War that I have learned that excuses won't do. And I am especially sorry that I didn't apologize to _you_, first."

Now the tears were spilling freely down Hermione's face. She wiped them with the sleeve of her jumper, not knowing what to say.

Draco sighed, unsure of where to put his hands. He wrapped his arms across his chest, his awkwardness seeming foreign to them both. He ran a hand through his hair and murmured so softly it was just above a whisper, "I'm not done."

Hermione nodded for him to continue, and they went back to walking.

"I thought you were so beautiful that my feelings scared me. I started to think I might be able to make you like me, even after all of the wretched things I had said and done. I was too far gone, though, and I knew it. I was so afraid of you, of failing you, of failing myself, my father, Voldemort. Fear turns to hate so easily, and I knew how to hate you, Granger. I really did a good job at it. I was first in our class in anger."

They passed a bench and Draco looked suddenly weary, so much so that when Hermione moved to sit, he collapsed beside her.

"That picture was taken around that time, Granger. I know now that I loved you. But I wasn't at all good at love. I didn't know how."

Hermione looked at Draco. His eyes were overbright, but his face was calm. He looked lighter.

"Draco?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"I wish..."

"Do you?" he cut over her. "I don't know what to wish for. I don't trust myself enough to know yet. Maybe someday. Do you want me to keep going?" He looked at her, shyly.

"I- yes."

They both stood, and walked slowly on.

"Her name is Astoria. She is...light. She is kind when I would be terse. She is mindful when I would be thoughtless, deliberate when I would be impulsive. She is as open as Loon- Luna - and I have never seen her afraid to do what is right. I met her three months ago when she brought a relative in for care. I like her. Very, very much. We are just starting out, but she is teaching me how to care for my soul I was fortunate enough to keep." He smiled. "And I think she would understand, though I am not yet myself brave enough to owl her about it first, if I were to kiss you right now."

Draco stopped and looked down at Hermione, and with a gasp she recognized the face that she had seen in the photograph. It was Hermione who then stepped toward Draco, and he swiftly matched her step and put one hand on her waist, the other on her cheek, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. Overwhelmed by this tenderness, Hermione put her palm on his heart and leaned into him. He captured her lips with his, and Hermione was drowning in waves of emotions, too jumbled to surface. The kiss lingered gently, and when Draco pulled back to end it, Hermione knew she had to kiss him back. This kiss was more insistent, lips, tongues, and two small moans of pleasure when Draco gently threaded his fingers through the hair at her nape and Hermione curled her arms around his neck, pulling him tightly into her. Gradually, it softened, and Hermione broke it with one, heartbreakingly soft kiss. Draco leaned his forehead to hers and kept his eyes closed for a long moment, letting his breathing settle into a calming rhythm. When he was ready to speak, he did not let go of her.

"I am so sorry, Hermione."

"I wanted to kiss you, Draco."

"That isn't why I am sorry."

Suddenly in that flotsam of feelings, Hermione knew exactly what Draco was sorry for.

"Why did you let Dennis send me that photograph?"

"All this time I watched you, and I taught my worst self to hate you, I still saw your good. Hermione, you are beautiful, smart, but your goodness shines the brightest. And though Astoria is different from you in so many ways that I find myself delighted, for once, to continue discovering, she is good. Like you. I guess you lot aren't the only ones who have things they need to let go of." He paused, and then said with some urgency, "Tell me you are happy, Hermione. I need to know that you are happy."

Hermione breathed, then spoke.

"You may have heard some muggles say everything happens for a reason. They look for the lesson that was worth their suffering."

"Not the homeless ones, generally."

"No, I wouldn't think so. I don't believe it, either. But I do think, like Astoria does, I suppose, that you need to be mindful and be ready for the lessons life has to teach you, by accident or on purpose. Ron left me, once."

Draco's grip on her tightened.

"Harry was with me. Ron let a Horcrux nurture his jealousy and frustration and fear, and he just. Left."

"I'd read about the Horcruxes in the paper. I can't believe you carried them around. No wonder."

Hermione nodded and continued, "I have never, ever been so alone. I cried for days and days. When he came back, I learned that in that moment, he would never leave me again. He was in my Amortentia when I was sixteen, and he is in there now. He drives me crazy in all the ways." She smiled. "I am very happy, Draco," Hermione said as she squeezed his arm and pulled away from him, stepping back to his side.

Draco smiled back. "Hermione," he said, enjoying the sound of her name, "I am learning to look for the light and the love that life will offer me, and I am going to see Astoria tomorrow and tell her about you, and how I may have loved you properly, once, if I had been better. I am going to thank her for making me better so I can hope to love her the way she deserves to be loved. She makes me want to be better. It hurts sometimes, but in a good way. Like stretching." Draco grinned. The handsomeness of it made Hermione's breath catch.

"Draco, if you had smiled at me like that in school, I may have wanted you to love me. Very much. Thank you for seeing me. Let's go home." She pulled him into a hug, and when she finally pulled away she touched his cheek, smiling. Then she stepped back from him, turned, and disapparated.

Draco sighed a tired, shuddering sigh and vanished from the park to home, onion soup, a hot bath, and a dreamless sleep. His scars still hurt. But all was well.

Hermione appeared with a small pop that was easily drowned out by the last of the fireworks. Neville, Parvati, Dean, and Hannah were singing the last of "Auld Lang Syne," and Lee and George were hooting loudly into the night.

"WE LOVE YOU, FRED, YOU GIANT PRAT!"

Ron approached her, and she ran to him, crushing him with a hug.

"I love you, Ronald Weasley. I am so glad it has always been you."

He smiled, his concerned eyes ranging over her, her windswept hair, her blazing eyes, but as he added it all together in his head and came to a positive sum, he beamed at her.

"I love you too, Hermione. Always you."

He kissed her softly and led her back to Bill who was opening the box of paper lanterns. Fleur had padded down to the shore in a dressing gown wrapped over her bump and was curled up on a chair he had pulled close to the water. Everyone gathered quietly to take a lantern, and Ron leaned into Hermione and whispered.

"Are you ready to do this now? Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes, Ron."

As she lit her lantern with her wand, she caught Harry's eye and realized he had been searching her face for several moments. She beamed at him, and he smiled back, reassured. They all let their lanterns go into the air and watched them float over the water, until they disappeared from view. All was well.


End file.
